


Adaptation is Key

by WizardsGirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, 魔法使いの嫁 | Mahou Tsukai no Yome | The Ancient Magus Bride
Genre: A shitton of Mythology and Folklore, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Hogwarts, Although she's still a Cat Lady, Angst, Arabella Figg is more than the Crazy Cat Lady, BAMF!Cats, BAMF!Chise, BAMF!Elias, BAMF!Familiars, BAMF!Harry, Because in the Magus Verse there is religion mixed up with magic, But mostly it's just me playing with my creatures, Canon Typical Violence, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Fae & Fairies, Folklore, Harry is a Sleigh Beggy, Hedgewitches, Hurt/Comfort, I adore the Sidhe let me tell you, I get to play with Faeries!, Icelandic Mythology & Folklore, Irish Mythology & Folklore, Litterallrey just, Mages, Magic, Magic and Familiars, Major Character Death is for the Potters, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology & Folklore, Mythology - Freeform, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Scottish Mythology & Folklore, Severus was Lily's, Sidhe FTW, Sirius was James Familiar, Slaugh, Sleigh Beggy, So many tags, So much Fae and Magic and Creatures oh my~!, Sorry Not Sorry, Symbolism, The Church, Welsh Mythology & Folklore, Wilde Hunt, a bit of worldbuilding, and science, because reasons, seriously, sorcery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-31 11:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardsGirl/pseuds/WizardsGirl
Summary: A Sleigh Beggy's footsteps are forever haunted by the shadow of a tragedy just waiting for the right moment to strike.The last memory Harry has of his Mother is of her lying on the floor.





	1. Prologue: Insult to Injury

**Author's Note:**

> The Ancient Magus' Bride AKA The Magicians Bride AKA Mahoutsukai no Yome sucked me in and got me emotionally invested HARD. 
> 
> Seriously, I have been writing down the exact time & date of airing for each episode. (Cough Episode 6, The Faerie Queen, airs on Crunchyroll at 1:30 PM Saturday, November 11, Cough)
> 
> First, I'm going to give you a few facts!
> 
> ONE: Harry is a Sleigh Beggy, just like Chise. No, he is not replacing her. No, he is not going to get involved with her or Elias. No, he is not going to be adopted by her/Elias as 'their' son.
> 
> TWO: There is NO HOGWARTS or WIZARDING WORLD in this fic. This is an AU taking place in the AMB Universe. Certain characters from the HP world will be in this fic, but only sparingly. There will be No Golden Trio.
> 
> THREE: Voldemort isn't a Mage or a Sorcerer. It'll be explained in the fic, no worries.
> 
> That's all I'm gonna explain, for now, if you have any more questions, feel free to ask!! ^-^
> 
> Now, enjoy!!

**Adaptation Is Key**

 

**Prologue:**

_Insult to Injury_

 

_The last memory Harry has of his Mother is of her lying on the floor._

 

Blank green eyes stare at the gravestone, small hands curled around a small, wooden bird.

 

_Her red hair had been splayed out like it did when she slept next to his Daddy. It was darker, though, like when she got out of the tub. A pool of dark red being soaked up by the brighter red of her hair._

 

“He's doing it again, Mummy,” a boy's voice whined behind him uncaringly. His cousin, Dudley, no doubt. Green eyes continued to watch the shadowy hand twist and reach for him from the grave.

No one else could see it.

 

_She looked like she was sleeping, green eyes shut and mouth parted slightly. He knew she wasn't asleep, not now. She wouldn't sleep on the kitchen floor like that, anyway. She said it wasn't clean._

 

“Hush, Diddykins,” his Aunt Petunia's voice soothed, pitched in that annoying baby-voice that Harry'd seen a neighbor use on their dumb little dog. His mouth trembled, fingers tightening on the little bird figurine in his hands.

 

_Daddy was in the hallway, and he didn't look like he was sleeping at all._

 

“I heard he's like my sister,” Aunt Petunia's voice muttered, most likely to her Husband, Uncle Vernon. “She was always strange in the head, you know, talking to _things_ , _seeing_ them, even when there was nothing there. I don't want that near our Dudley, Vernon, I won't have it!”

Harry's shoulders hunched, fingers tightening, mouth pulled thin as he shut his eyes tight. The wooden bird seemed to bite into his hands.

 

_Daddy's stomach was torn open, his insides on the outside, his eyes huge and blank, mouth gaping. Harry could still remember his scream._

 

“It will only be for a month or two, Mrs. Dursley,” the social worker soothed quietly. “Just until we can find him stable housing.”

“Should be locked in an asylum then,” Uncle Vernon muttered nastily. “Freakish, unnatural lot, the bunch of them.” The bird tumbled to the ground, rolling towards the shadowy hand as Harry clamped his hands tightly over his ears, tears leaking down his face as he crouched, shivering.

 

_Uncle Padfoot, his Daddy's Grimm Familiar, was lying, still and cold, next to the Monster that had killed them all, blue eyes blank and fangs still bared._

 

“Why couldn't he have died too, Mummy?” Dudley whined, loud enough for Harry to hear past his hands. “I don't want to share my room! It's _mine_! I shan't do it, I shan't!” Aunt Petunia hushed him, and Harry grit his teeth.

 

“ _Oh Cub,” Uncle Remus choked, amber eyes gleaming inhumanly bright, tears and blood spatter on his wolfish face and a ghostly collar curling around his neck. “I'm so sorry, Cub, I'm so, so sorry...” And then, he was being pulled away, pulled by the same smoky fog that had brought the Monster, a strange, bugle-like call echoing out of it and then..._

 

_He was gone too._

 

Harry's hands slowly slid from his face to fall limply at his side, dull green eyes opening again to stare at the hand. It rolled his bird back towards him. Slowly, he looked down at it.

The blank, black painted eyes of the raven stared back and, slowly, the seven-year-old picked it up and cradled it to his chest.

“Well, come on then,” his Uncle's voice ordered gruffly, one meaty hand clamping on his shoulder and roughly pulling him away from his parents' graves. Harry obeyed, looking back only once, to watch the shadow hand twitch and turn inhumanely, as if trying to urge him back to where it rose from between the graves. Uncle Padfoot didn't get a grave. He was “just a dog” after all.

“Come on,” Vernon muttered, shoving him lightly, and Harry stumbled, and returned his attention forward, watching his feet as he moved.

 

_His last memory of his Family is a Nightmare, and it will never end._

 

**~~0~~0~~0~~0~~0~~0~~**

 

He's barely at the Dursley's a week before they begin to punish him for Seeing things.

“I won't have that _freakish_ nonsense in this house, Boy!” Vernon snarls, backhanding him across the face after he catches Harry petting the strange, lizard-like Creature no one else seems able to see. Harry cowers, cheek aching, and the Creature flees with a crooning cry of alarm as the boy is grabbed by the scruff and tossed into the small cupboard under the stairs. It isn't the first time, is far from the last.

After a month, the Dursley's stop pretending he sleeps anywhere else in the house, and their neighborhood is sympathetic to them.

“Heard he's troubled in the head,” they whisper as Harry trudges silently down the street in his too-big clothes and bruised skin.

“Hears voices and sees things. He even _hurts himself_. For attention, you know?”

“Poor Petunia and Vernon, they're too kind, taking in such a lost cause.”

“Heard he got it from his Mother, you know. Some people just shouldn't _breed_ , you know?”

“Such a _disgrace_.”

“Unnatural.”

“Odd.”

“ _Freakish_.”

The words haunt his steps, haunt his dreams, specters and shadows chasing him everywhere he goes, with cold eyes and distrustful faces.

He _hates them_. Hates them even as he sobs into his knees in the play-tunnel at the park, even as he _wishes_ on every star and dandelion and eyelash that they'd just _love him, please, only a little, **please**_!

He misses his Mothers voice as she sang to him about the names of all the potions ingredients they had in the cabinet. He misses riding on his Daddy's back when he Shifted into his Spirit Form, the huge Stag that made him feel like he was _flying_ as the ran through the fields. He missed Uncle Padfoot's mischievous grin as he transformed into a human and showed him a great new trick before Mummy caught them and put his uncle in his dog house with a stern look and a warning spark of her Magic. He missed Uncle Remus reading to him about everything from history to cooking to nursery rhymes.

He missed them all _so much_ -!

But they were gone. They were gone and not coming back, and every day his eyes grew a little more dull, his skin a little more pale beneath the bruises, his body a little thinner.

 

**~~0~~0~~0~~0~~0~~0~~**

 

_The Monster that came for them came in the form of a snake with sickly gray-white scales and the mask of a smiling man, red eyes glowing as it tore through the protection barriers and attacked, the heavy, glittering Fog it came with smelling like rotting things and fear. It's voice was a garbled hiss, a death rattle, as the spines on its back crackled and jerked, humanoid-seeming arms tearing out like a centipedes many legs as seven-fingered hands reached for Harry with rot-blackened claws._

“ _Ssssleigh Beggyyyy,”_ _it hissed, hungrily, gleefully, furiously, and Harry couldn't even **scream—**!_

 

**~~0~~0~~0~~0~~0~~0~~**

 

“I won't have it anymore, Vernon!” Aunt Petunia's shrill voice was easy to hear from the kitchen as Harry silently swept the living room. Dudley and his friend Piers sat in front of the telly, sparing time to glare at the dark haired boy between programs. “Nothing we're doing is _working_! He's getting _worse_ , Vernon! What, what if it _infects_ Dudley?! I won't have it any longer! I want him _out_ of our _house_!” She cries, and then the sound of her sobbing into the phone could be heard. Harry's shoulders hunch, before he's suddenly shoved, head smashing into the edge of a cabinet, sending him to the ground with a grunt.

“I hate you,” Dudley hissed, standing over him and panting furiously, eyes bright with tears. Harry stayed down, messy black hair covering his face as he slowly pushed himself up. Blood dripped from the new cut on his temple, spattering bright red and gleaming on the back of his hand. “Why couldn't you just go _die_ like your stupid parents?!” Dudley snapped angrily, glaring. “Well?! Why!?” He shouted; Harry remained silent, slowly sitting up as more blood dripped down his face, dull, dark green eyes staring downward.

“Come on, Dudley,” Piers muttered, tugging his cousin away and towards the kitchen. “Let's go outside.” Dudley let himself be pulled away, and Harry was once again left alone, the telly being turned off so that he was plunged into dim darkness.

Slowly, the seven-year-old dragged himself into the nearest corner, curling up tightly and burying his face in his knees. His fingers bit into his forearms, dirty, chewed nails cutting into his skin. The Creatures that skittered around the Dursley household made their way slowly over to surround him, strange Creatures, that resembled lizards and salamanders and spiders. And, from beneath the couch, one more Creature oozed slowly towards him.

Harry didn't like this one. It looked like sewage, a black, corrosive sludge that dripped and dragged and made his stomach want to heave whenever it bubbled and popped and slopped about after his relatives, feeding off of them, their fear and hate and negativity. It had been relatively strong, if small and limited in where it could go when he'd first arrived, but now it was larger, stronger, and more than grateful for the extra food. It lurked in the cracks and crevasses and filled the house with tension and frayed tempers.

Slowly, Harry lifted his face from his knees, just enough that his dull eyes locked onto the Creature as it burbled and oozed in front of him, the other, gentler Creatures skittering a safe distance away from it warily. A large bubble of the Slime crawled upward, to the top of the mound of grotesque tar, and split open with a sound like snot being sucked in.

A dark red iris stared at him, the newly formed eye taking in the blood on his face and the blank eyes staring back, and then in rolled up, the ball falling down to rejoin the body with a slimy _splat_ noise, before the Slime oozed away again, back to its home beneath the couch, but this time there was something... _Anticipatory_ about it.

Harry couldn't bring himself to care anymore.

He was just... _Drained_. Exhausted. _Numb_.

That night, as his Uncle and Aunt and Cousin sat on their couch to watch the telly before going to bed, Harry watched from under the door to his cupboard-room, as the Slime curled tendrils up their bodies, sliding into noses and mouths and ears, and a bright red eye gleamed from underneath them like an omen.

Harry rolled over so his back was to the door, pulling his tattered blanket up to his ears and determinedly closing his eyes.

The Social Worked picked him up the next day.

A week later, he was once more standing before gravestones, his relatives having died from some sort of disease that was like a mold had grown _inside_ them. He stared down at their graves blankly, the stitches in his temple itching faintly as he watched the black ooze that was bubbling up like a toxic sludge from their caskets as the grave dirt was tossed in. The raven figurine sat in his hand and felt like it was made of lead.

He couldn't bring himself to care anymore.

“Don't stare at it too long, sweetling,” a gentle voice told him as a soft, wrinkly hand landed on his shoulder, drawing his dull eyes away from the slowly-disappearing Slime. An old woman with kind gray eyes smiled gently at him. “You'll give it ideas.” She nodded at a particularly tenacious bubble of Slime that was slowly trying to crawl from the grave, pulsing like a heartbeat and leaving a trail of rotting tar to drip back into the ground with steady, poisonous _plink_ sounds.

Harry blinked, staring from it to the woman, a flicker of a gleam lightening his dull eyes as he realized that she could _See it_ -!

“My name,” she told him, beginning to gently tug him away, “is Arabella Figg. And you will be coming to stay with me from now on, okay, Harry dear?” Staring up at her as she leads him away, Harry could only nod uncertainly. “Let's get you home, now, dear,” she crooned, ushering him into the back of her car. As soon as he was sitting, a shadow shifted and bulged out of the floorboards and climbed into his lap, taking on the ghostly, black-mist form of a cat with glowing silver eyes and a matching silver coin-sized mark on its chest. Its mouth pulled into a wide grin as Mrs. Figg climbed into the driver's seat, and Harry stared at it, wide-eyed, as she smiled over her shoulder at the two of them.

“That's Magnus, my Familiar,” she told him; Magnus lost his form, turning into a black cloud that swirled up and around Harry's head playfully before coiling back into the form of a cat across his shoulders, mouth opening wide in a yawn. “He's a _Cat Sidhe_ , and perfectly harmless to you.

“A... Cat She?” Harry asked softly, staring at the Familiar as he nuzzled his head beneath the boy's chin.

“A Spirit Cat,” Mrs. Figg told him as she started the car. “Don't worry, Harry dear,” she told him affectionately as she began to drive away. “You have much to learn about the world you can See, and all the Creatures and Beings that belong in it.” Harry stared at her, wide-eyed, and tentatively lifted a hand to pull his fingers through the shadowy wisps of Magnus's fur.

“What... Are you?” He managed to ask; Magnus opened his eyes, the silver flashing unnaturally as they locked with Harry's.

There was no reflection.

“Now?” Mrs. Figg asked, sounding bemused. “I'm just a little Hedgewitch. I make tonics and potions for animals, better than most veterinarians nowadays can make,” she told him easily. “But, once upon a time? I was a _Mage_.”

“A Mage?” Harry murmured; Magnus was still staring, and the world was starting to get a little fuzzy.

“I'll explain it all later, Harry dear, just rest for now,” Mrs. Figg's voice told him. It sounded like it was coming from far away. “Sleep, little Sleigh Beggy,” she murmured as the world grew dark. “All will be explained later.” And Harry slept.

 

_The last memory Harry has of his Mother is of her lying on the floor._

_But the best memory he has of her is when she was singing in the kitchen, teaching him about the potions ingredients and pretending to not notice his Daddy watching from the doorway with a soppy expression, Uncle Padfoot sitting at his feet with an amused grin and a wagging tail, and Uncle Remus puttering around the living room. Her Familiar, Severus, an Ariel Fae with black raven feathers, scowled from his perch above the oven, pitch-black eyes gleaming like oil in the vapor from the potion on the stove._

_It was the last time he saw his Family together and alive._

_He misses them more than anything in the world._

 


	2. 1: A Cornered Cat Becomes A Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff then Angst and it gets Dark heheheh...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you guys go! Also, Episode 6 was so CUTE!! Mostly pointless filler, of course, but OMFG SO DAMN CUTE!!! 8D

**, aAdaptation Is Key**

 

**One:**

_A Cornered Cat Becomes A Lion_

 

Harry could hear his mother's voice.

“ _Harry...”_

She sounded so far away, though...

“ _Harry... Wake up, Harry...”_

He didn't want to. If he woke up, he wouldn't hear her anymore.

“ _Wake up...”_

_He didn't want to!_

“ _HARRY!” Mummy screamed as the Monster lunged at him, seven-fingered rotting hands dripping with Daddy's blood as it reached for him—_

Harry jerked up sharply, gasping harshly for air as his heart pounded. The large, fluffy gray tabby that had been sleeping on his chest gave him an evil look from where he'd accidentally sent it sprawling across his lap. Blinking rapidly, Harry looked around wildly, breathing out a sharp huff of relief as he found his glasses resting on the table next to him. Putting them on, he looked around cautiously.

The room he was in was homely. Dark, rich wood made up the floor and furniture frames. The walls were a dark cream, with cat silhouettes and sketches decorating them tastefully, and the seven-year-old quickly noted that the entire room was cat-themed. The dark red rugs had little paw-prints on them, the throw pillow he'd been sleeping on had a sleeping cat picture on it, the blanket he'd been covered in was made up of white and black cats sauntering around it in never-ending circles. And the gray tabby, who had since sprawled over the boy's feet, wasn't the only _actual_ cat there, either.

Curled up in the red arm-chair beside him was a white-and-orange cat that was snoring faintly, and along the back of that chair a gray cat yawned and blinked bleary green eyes at Harry. A white-and-black cat was cleaning its leg in the nearby window, and a Siamese cat was peering around the doorway to blink large blue eyes at him as well.

“The kit's awake!” The Siamese yowled, turning it-his?-head to stare towards whomever he was... _talking_ to? Harry blinked slowly again, staring at the cat.

“Yes, thank you, Martin,” Mrs. Figg's voice chided gently from out of sight. “I'd thank you not to yell inside. It's rude.” The gray tabby on his feet snorted irritably, opening one green eye to glare slightly at the Siamese, Martin, who pranced forward to peer up at Harry. The other cats in the room all lifted their heads to stare as well.

“Kits today,” the gray tabby muttered hoarsely, yawning. “No _manners_.”

“Yeah, yeah, old-timer,” Martin said, rolling his eyes and wriggling his butt, before he leaped up into Harry's arms, making the boy grunt in surprise and cradle him uncertainly. The Siamese peered smugly down at the tabby from his perch, ear twitching. “Why don't you go back to napping, hmm? It's all you do anyways.” He scoffed; the tabby growled at him and slowly sat up, stretching with a huge yawn.

“Martin, stop sniping at Oscar,” Mrs. Figg ordered as she appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray of what looked like sandwiches and tea. Slipping out from behind her were yet more cats, a trio of calico-colored ones of different sizes and coat-lengths.

“He's just being persnickety because he's curious,” one of the calicos, the smallest one with the longest fur and a heavy, plumed tail, sniffed delicately as she skipped around Mrs. Figg's ankle to hop up into the chair with the white-and-orange cat.

“Yes, yes, Peaches, we all know,” Mrs. Figg told her fondly, setting the tray down on the table and shooing Oscar off of Harry's feet so that the boy could curl them up and give the older woman the end of the couch to sit on. Martin pointedly turned himself into Harry's arms to rub his head beneath his chin and purr, blue eyes smug. “How are you feeling, Harry dear?” she asked; Harry hesitated.

“...Confused,” he decided softly; she nodded understandingly, not even twitching as Magnus sauntered out from the crevices between the couch cushions to curl in her lap. Her wrinkled hands were steady as she dragged them through the smoky wisps of his fur.

“That's understandable, dear,” she told him kindly. “It's been a confusing time. Please, don't hesitate to ask any questions, I am here to answer them, after all.” Harry hesitated, clumsily petting Martin as the Siamese bossily shoved his head into the boy's hands and writhed around his lap.

“...Where am I?” He asked carefully; Mrs. Figg smiled.

“You're in my home, a little cottage a bit away from Rothbury.” Harry's brows furrowed, mouthing the name to himself. “In Northumberland, dear.” The boy blinked, eyes going wide.

“But, but that's on the opposite side of England!” He blurted. “We were just in Surrey, outside _London_!” Mrs. Figg grinned at him brightly, deepening the wrinkles of her face with mischief and humor.

“Yes, well, Magnus did you a bit of mischief, dear,” she told him, amused. “You slept the whole way, all five and half hours, and the last day as well!” The Cat Sidhe seemed unrepentant as he pointedly rolled in Mrs. Figg's lap. Harry stared, eyes huge, and Martin distracted him by once again shoving his head into Harry's chin.

“If you're not going to ask questions then _pet me_ , kit!” the cat ordered, meowing demandingly in his face until Harry obeyed.

“How...?” Harry managed, staring at Mrs. Figg uncertainly; she smiled.

“Cat's have a magic all on their own, you know,” she told him slyly as Magnus misted through her fingers, batting at them playfully. “Nine lives and a paw in both worlds allows for many mystical properties.” Harry nodded uncertainly, scratching Martin under his chin and earning a groan and hushed purrs of 'everlasting adoration', apparently.

“Look at him, that great slug,” the calico, Peaches, chortled from the chair where she was cuddling with the white-and-orange cat. “Have you ever seen a cat more in love with himself, Gilbert?” The other cat hummed, whiskers lifted in a smile as he nodded in agreement. Martin hissed at them, but Harry scratched him under the chin again, dull green eyes gleaming brighter as the cat moaned and went limp under his hand, blue eyes all but glowing with happiness.

“Keeping you, precious, wonderful, _amazing_ kit,” Martin declared, slumping bonelessly into Harry's hold. “Keeping you _forever_.”

“Silly creature,” Mrs. Figg chuckled, leaning forward and picking up a sandwich, which she pressed into Harry's free hand gently. “Eat, Harry. I will explain why you're here and what we'll be doing from now on, alright?” Harry nodded uncertainly and bit into the sandwich, a simple thing of ham and cheese and lettuce. Mrs. Figg sat back, weathered hands cradling her Familiars insubstantial form gently.

“Once, a long time ago, I was a Mage,” she told the boy quietly, stroking Magnus tenderly. “My power rest in spells and potions of Animal Husbandry. That is,” she explained at his confused blink, “magic and potions dealing with animals, their well-being, and entire selves. Potions made from animals or for animals were always strongest, spells struck truer when used with or for or against creatures. I couldn't light a fire without a match, or draw water from the Earth, or make even the lightest breeze flow, but I could guarantee the speed of a messenger birds flight, guarantee their safe travels and direction. I could spell a cow to produce the best and most milk, a horse to have the strongest legs and healthiest heart, a cat's mousing and stealth, a dog's fierce bite and fiercer loyalties,” she murmured, a deeply wistful sort of ache entering her voice.

“...What happened?” Harry asked after swallowing his bite of sandwich, absently pulling it away when Martin tried to lick at the crust. Mrs. Figg sighed, a low, sad sound, and offered a wry smile.

“I fell in love,” she told him quietly. “With a Sorcerer.” Harry took another bite when she gestured at him. “You see, Sorcerers and Mages, we're not meant to mix. Sorcerers magic is all about the science of the spellwork, using their surroundings to manipulate things to their will. Mages are miracle workers, quite literally. We gain our power from the Fae and magical Beings that we can See, and, as such, are much more powerful, yet twice as difficult to learn and teach and control. Mages are a dying breed, dear,” she told him sadly. “And Sorcerers out-number us five to one...” She sighed softly, and shook her head.,

“I had just finished my Apprenticeship with a great Mage named Albus,” she told him. “His power laid in Alchemy, Fire, and Battle Magics, but he was more than capable of making my own Power prosper. I was eager to pave my path in the world, hungry to prove that I was more than capable of wielding my Power for the good of the world itself... And then I met him,” she murmured softly.

“Peter was a Sorcerer who dealt in Transformative Magicks,” she told him, absently handing him another sandwich as he finished the first one. “He had an... Understanding, with rodents of all kinds and, could even, with careful planning, transform into one. He was nervous and small and I thought him both charming and harmless,” she murmured, sadly. “We could discuss our Familiars and their kin constantly, and we theorized that certain Magics, both Mage and Sorcerer, could mix with careful application to create homunculi-like beings with _actual_ _life_ ,” she breathed, smiling gently.

“H-honocu...what?” Harry asked, confused; Mrs. Figg waved her hand.

“Human-made creatures with no life or soul of their own, extensions of the Creators will,” she explained. “But, we figured we could do it, together! No Sorcerer or Mage had ever willing worked together on such a thing, after all. It was a whole new avenue of Magic, and it was _ours_!” She breathed, before pausing and seeming to shrink in on herself, a dull, grieving expression curling her face and shading her eyes.

“But it wasn't to be,” she murmured quietly. “We did the calculations, wrote out the Runes. We cast our spell and... It was a calamity,” she murmured. “Our Magicks clashed in an amalgamation of pure Chaos, unfettered, unchecked, in an ever growing, greedy orb of _death_ ,” she whispered, fingers trembling faintly before she looked down and focused on Magnus for a moment.

“Peter left me,” she murmured quietly. “He shifted form and fled like the rat he was, and all I could do was try and contain it, so that it wouldn't destroy the entire town... I lost my Magic, for the most part, that day,” she told Harry quietly. “Magnus and I, we gave _everything we had_ , and it almost wasn't enough. But then, the Cat King appeared, as if from thin air, with my old Teacher. And the two of them sacrificed their _lives_ , together and with a _smile_ , and Albus, that _silly, silly_ Mage, told me to live well and that he would be waiting. The nerve of that man!” She huffed, a tremulous smile curling her lips before she cleared her throat.

“I fell into a coma, for near enough a year, and woke as I am now, with barely enough Magic to make a potion and hold Magnus to me at the same time,” she sighed mournfully. “And I found myself slipping into darker and darker moods. It was only after I woke up one morning to a pregnant cat on my doorstep, one that was to bear the King Cat's litter, that I realized that the world hadn't quite ended. I had lost Peter, Albus, and my Mage-hood, but I was still _alive_ , and therefore capable of doing some good still.” She sighed happily, smiling at Harry. “Tea?” She offered; Harry swallowed his mouthful of sandwich and accepted the cup she offered with a mumbled thank you.

“What does this have to do with me?” He asked her after taking a sip; Mrs. Figg hummed.

“Once, a long while ago, I witnessed the maturing of a little Mage,” she told him quietly. “The girl had just turned seven, and her Sight had activated along with her Magic, and I was there to see her lash her newfound power out against a nasty Creature who sought to devour an injured Ariel. Her hair had been bright red, and her eyes had been green, and she wrapped the Creature up in lashing winds with the Ariel's aid, until it had been torn asunder and a bond had formed between the two of them as strong as tempered steel.” Harry was frozen, throat going tight and fingers trembling around his cup, until Mrs. Figg cupped her hands tenderly over his own, smiling softly.

“You have her eyes, you know,” she told him kindly; Harry's chest ached, and he felt like he couldn't _breathe_. “Little Lily Evans was a _storm_ , she blew into peoples lives and flooded them with her entire self, and, even when she swept away, she left behind traces of herself that took _weeks_ to fade even slightly,” Mrs. Figg told him, tone almost reverent. “I introduced her to her Teacher, a Half-Fae named Filius whose Fae parentage dealt with weather, and whose Power rested strictly in Metallurgy, funny enough. And through him, she met your father. Now, James Potter was a _scoundrel_ ,” she told him with a grin. “His Power laid in Transformative and Spiritual Energies, allowing him to change his form, much like Peter had, only much lighter, easier. That Grimm of his helped, of course, and his Werewolf friend as well...”

“Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Remus,” Harry murmured, voice choked; Mrs. Figg squeezed his hands gently, sympathetically.

“I grieved deeply when I heard they had been slain,” she told him quietly. “I wept and wept and cursed the world for taking sweet, fierce Lily and charming James and mischievous Padfoot. I raged and screamed like a spoiled child, and broke quite a few vases, though they were rather ugly, anyways,” she mused, smiling wryly. She fell silent, though, and Harry struggled just to calm his breathing into something _normal_. Martin curled against his chest and licked his chin, making Harry sigh out shakily.

“It took me this long to even learn that you had lived as well,” the older woman told him quietly. “And when I did, just as I was filing for custody because those awful, _awful_ people had just given you up like a runt they didn't want, you lost them as well. I am so sorry, Harry,” she told him softly, using her hold in his hands to pull him close gently. “I am so, _so_ sorry for all of this loss you've dealt with recently. If I could have prevented it, _any_ of it, I would have, know that.” Harry tilted his head so that his face pressed against her collarbone, and closed his eyes, slumping tiredly against her. One of her hands curled up to gently stroke his hair, the other gripping his small hand and squeezing gently, soothingly, and Harry breathed shakily for a moment, slumping heavier, to the point that Martin made low, complaining noises from where he was being squished between the two of them.

After a few minutes, Harry pulled back, and Mrs. Figg let him, her eyes suspiciously bright and damp. Magnus was a black, misting cloud hovering over her shoulder, a quicksilver flash of silver appearing as he watched them from whatever plane he rested in when like this. Harry took a deep breath and scrubbed his face firmly, although he hadn't cried at all, and looked away. On the table where his glasses had been, his raven figurine sat, and, relieved, the boy snatched it up to cradle to his chest as Martin slunk from his lap with a mutter about getting something to eat.

“So,” he started, thumb rubbing over the birds head. “What, what do we do now?” He asked; Mrs. Figg smiled, mouth trembling only slightly.

“Now?” She asked; Magnus re-formed to sprawl over her shoulders, smiling, smugly pleased, at Harry. “Now I'll teach you everything I know about being a Mage. And you will _fly_.”

And Harry could only smile hesitantly back.

“Let's begin, then,” he told her; Magnus smiled wider, silver eyes flashing.

And so they began.

 

**~~0~~0~~0~~0~~0~~**

 

It had been months since that first day, and Harry had been learning. Slowly, carefully, but he _had_ been learning. Mrs. Figg taught him all about the plants she used in her tonics and potion, about how to use a cat whisker to keep eavesdroppers away. He learned how to care for and raise cats, several different illnesses and injuries they could get and how to recognize a serious injury form a simple one.

He helped wherever and whenever he could, making tea or pulling weeds from the herb garden, feeding and watering the many cats Mrs. Figg housed (All fifteen of them) and, of course, cleaning litter boxes. He never complained, never whined, and listened attentively to everything the older woman told him. He even got to help her as she tended to animals that people brought to her when he didn't have class at the local Primary. He got to help with everything from dogs to horses to even a particularly fierce hedgehog named Spindle. People, mostly the little old ladies and the elderly priest who wandered in to chat every so often, thought he was 'precious', and had taken to calling him 'kitten' after Mrs. Figg had teased him with it once or twice.

Despite the attention from other people, it was the cats and small Creatures that kept Harry's attention the most. Animals, he knew, were always far better to him than people had been as of late, and the cats were more than happy to keep their new 'kitten' busy. And the Creatures of the house liked to cluster around him if he stayed alone for longer than a few minutes. Most of them stayed out of reach and/or sight of the cats, as they all tended to chase them around or even, in the case of Oscar, eat any that got too close to him.

(That poor, poor Book Wyrm, it had just been trying to burrow into the book of herbs that Mrs. Figg wanted him to read! Poor, poor Book Wyrm...)

But, the point of the matter was that it had been five months, and, while he _had_ been learning, Harry had yet to be allowed to try a single spell or charm or even to make a potion himself without Mrs. Figg doing the stirring and cutting and pretty much everything that _he_ wanted to learn to do, _himself_.

“Calm down, Kitten,” Peaches the fluffy calico scolded as the two of them walked down the snowy lane from where the school bus had dropped him off. She was bundled up in a hand-knit purple sweater and tiny, matching scarf and booties. “Arabella knows what she's doing and when to push or press. She's nearly one hundred, you know, despite her looks,” the cat informed him primly. “She may not live to two hundred, may not even make it to one hundred and fifty, but she's still got more in her head then you will for a good, long while yet.” Harry huffed at her, tugging his own hand-knit gear, the red-and-gold scarf clashing with his lime-green mittens and purple-and-gray scarf.

“I understand that I do!” He told the cat quietly, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “But I just think that I can at least _practice_ a little, can't I? The Dursley's had me cooking and cleaning by myself the entire time I was there, and I know that Potions and Tonics are at least similar enough in cooking that it's only the magical aspect that changes it from a soup to spell-craft. So, why can't I just make even a _simple_ potion without help? Mrs. Figg would still be there, still supervise, but it would be _my_ work!” Peaches shook her head, leaping up onto the stone wall that edged the front yard of Mrs. Figg's cottage.

“Yes, well, we all have agreed that those Humans are better as they are _now_ than they were alive, haven't we?” She sniffed. “And besides—” Abruptly, Peaches stopped, going still and staring at the front door of the cottage.

“Peaches?” Harry asked; a high-pitched growling began to rise form the small cat, her fur struggling to stand on end against her sweater, eyes flashing. “What's wrong?” The boy asked nervously, fingers reflexively dropping to his pocket, where his raven figurine sat safely tucked away. Before he could do more than take a hesitant step back, Martin was slipping through the cat-flap on the door, dressed warmly in his yellow, blue, and green sweater, hat, scarf, and mittens. The Siamese cat leaped up onto the stone wall and meowed loudly and wordlessly at Harry until he reached forward to awkwardly stroke along the cats covered back.

“We've got visitors,” Martin informed them, arching into Harry's petting and wriggling happily. “Very _nosy_ visitors, but they're not here for harm.” The Siamese smiled, bearing his sharp, pointy teeth in a satisfied way. “We wouldn't have let them through the door, otherwise.” At the firm, cheerful statement, Harry relaxed, grunting as he was suddenly forced to catch the Siamese when Martin leaped at him. Peaches huffed, slowly relaxing and shaking her thick fur out.

“Come on, then,” she told the two males, sniffing disapprovingly at Martin as the Siamese rolled in Harry's arm and patted at his face with his yellow and blue booties. “Let's get Harry inside, then. The kitten doesn't have any fur, Martin,” she scolded meaningfully, leaping off the wall to lead the way.

“Yes, he does!” Martin retorted indignantly. “It's all just on the top of his head! Shame on you, making fun of him, Peaches! Kit can't help it!” Peaches snarled at him before turning, tail high and nose lifted disdainfully as she led the way, stepping through the cat-flap with a little 'hmph!' noise.

“You shouldn't tease her so much, Martin,” Harry muttered to the Siamese as he cautiously opened the door. “You know she can get sensitive about such things.” Martin huffed and then wordlessly yowled in Harry's face, loudly and obnoxiously, before throwing himself from the boy's arms to saunter away smugly, making Harry shake his head as he carefully began to unwrap himself.

“I'm home, Mrs. Figg!” He called cautiously as he dropped his winter gear next to his boots and backpack, raven safely tucked into his pocket.

“In the kitchen, kit,” the Hedgewitch called; Harry crept over to peer around the door-frame into said room, hesitating. Mrs. Figg was sitting at the table, sipping tea, next to a box of what seemed like some sort of gem. Quartz, maybe? All of them in pinks and pale yellows and greens. Across from her, sitting regally, was one of the most ethereally beautiful Beings Harry had ever seen. Long, straight black hair that fell to her waist, with a trio of curling green vine-like things curling through it on either side of her face. Skin pale and smooth and unbroken or blemished. Regal, smooth face with a kind expression and a gentle smile, and beautiful pink-colored, serpentine eyes that caught his staring and lit up, mouth curving, and Harry blushed furiously and ducked back out of the doorway, eyes huge.

Immediately, sweet, beautiful tinkling laughter filled the air, like bells, and Harry's heart _thumped_.

“Come now, sweet one,” the woman's voice cooed, sweet and light and kind, and Harry's _ears_ burned as he ducked his head again to cautiously peek around the door-frame, unable to _not_ look. The woman had set her cup down, and one hand was cupped over her mouth as if she had just been witness to something far too cute to properly deal with, but her pink eyes were still kind. “Don't be shy, kitten, come on,” she crooned, and Harry shuffled carefully into the room obediently, still flushed and ducking his head as Mrs. Figg's soft chuckles joined the woman's tinkling bells of laughter as he almost tripped over a highly amused Martin.

“Hullo,” he managed to whisper out as he stopped beside and mostly behind his Teacher's chair, face scarlet and bright green eyes peeking up at the ethereal woman shyly. The woman lowered her hand to smile sweetly at him.

“Hello, kitten,” she greeted him warmly. “I have been hearing such wonderful tales about you, sweetling, I just couldn't help but come to see them for myself, and I am most pleased that I did!” She wiggled her long, pale fingers in a teasing wave, and Harry felt his flush flare again and instinctively ducked behind Mrs. Figg, before he forced his head up and awkwardly, shyly waving back. Instantly, the woman's pink eyes gleamed, inhumanly bright, as she beamed at him, cooing.

“He's so sweet,” she announced, smiling at Mrs. Figg. “Truly, it has been far too long since I have been charmed by a little one, and so quickly, too!” She laughed again, tinkling bells singing, and glittering, flickering gold Magic shimmered into existence around her, leaving Harry feeling flustered and dazed, blinking rapidly as Mrs. Figg patted his hand and grounded him a little more firmly. Martin helped, winding around his legs possessively even as he chuckled to himself about Harry's reactions.

“Harry is a good boy, very clever,” Mrs. Figg told the other warmly, beaming. She tugged on his hand, pulling him out from behind her kindly. “Harry, kitten, meet Her Majesty, Queene Titania, the _Gealach_ of _Tír_ na _nÓg_ , Queen of all Faery and Beings of the Night.” Harry blinked rapidly for a moment before his eyes went huge and bowed awkwardly; from the corner of his eye, he saw the woman—a _queen!_ \--once again lift a hand to cover her mouth.

“Y-your Majesty,” he managed and only straightened when Mrs. Figg patted his shoulder.

“Your Majesty, meet Harry Potter, Sleigh Beggy and my Apprentice.” The Queene rose and stepped gracefully around the edge of the table, her black and gold dress (Wasn't she _cold_? Did Faeries _get_ cold?) shimmering in the leftover gold Magic in the air. The Queene leaned down, hands resting on her knees and chest brought close, not that Harry even noticed, too mesmerized by her pretty eyes and prettier _kind_ smile.

“It is truly wonderful to meet you, Blessed Child,” she told him softly, smiling; Harry flushed again, wide-eyed, and offered a shy, sweet smile of his own, his usually dull eyes gleaming brightly with wonder and awe.

“Y-you too!” He stuttered out and felt his ears burn as Martin snickered at him until Magnus appeared out from under Mrs. Figg's chair to swat the Siamese cat on the head sternly.

“So precious,” The Queene sighed happily, slipping back to her chair and giving Harry some much-appreciated space to shuffle about uncomfortably. Mrs. Figg broke the new silence by turning to Harry and catching his eyes.

“Now, Kitten, I know that you have been frustrated with our lack of using actual Magic as of late,” she told him kindly. “So, I sent a missive to a fellow Mage, Angelica, to send some training Crystals so that you could begin learning how to feel your Magic without risking yourself.” Harry's eyes darted to the small collection of maybe-quartz, his eyes lighting up with hopeful excitement. Mrs. Figg reached into the box and pulled out a small piece of pale green crystal. “Now, these work firmly with Willpower and Visualization, Harry. You must clearly picture what you wish the crystal to turn into, and focus—” Instantly, the little crystal lit up brightly, and, within seconds, Mrs. Figg was holding a crystal daisy. It shimmered and glittered in the remains of the woman's Power, and Harry thought it was the prettiest flower he'd ever seen.

“Flowers are usually the starting point for these,” she told him, handing him the crystal, which he cradled reverently, eyes wide. “But I think you'd do better picking something else. As good as you are with plants, it's clear to see your Power doesn't rest with them , so it might do more harm than good,” she stated, amused, and Harry nodded, carefully tucking the crystal daisy into the same pocket as his raven, earning an unbearably fond smile from his Teacher.

“When can I try?” He asked hopefully; Mrs. Figg hummed and plucked a pink crystal from the box, pressing it to his hand and nodding to the footstool sitting little ways away, safely out of immediate reach of anything in the kitchen.

“Why don't you sit and think about what you want it to be for a little bit, then give it a go, Kitten,” she told him and Harry nodded eagerly, all but throwing himself at the stool; the Queene was once again covering her mouth and looking utterly charmed.

“So precious,” she breathed, and Harry had to turn his back to the two women, ears glowing and fire-hot. Closing his eyes determinedly, he focused on the crystal in his hand and ignored the voices murmuring near-silently behind him.

_What should the crystal become?_

“—charming kitten you've found—”

_Maybe a kitten?_

“—ets it from his Mother—“

_Mummy liked foxes, but Daddy was a stag... Maybe a bird?_

“—uch a joy, to find a Sleigh Beggy, and so—“

_Ugh, he hated that title... Focus, Harry, you can do it!_

“—on't call him that, he's too youn—”

 _I'll make it a circle_ , Harry decided, nodding to himself and clenching his hand on the crystal, a bit tighter than he meant to. _A perfectly smooth circle, like a skipping stone! It's a crystal, so—_

“—ou know Sleigh Beggy's never surv—“

— _it'll be hard but not as complicated_ , he tried to focus, feeling his jaw start to clench.

“—I don't what him to overex—”

 _Focus,_ Harry thought, hand clenching even harder on the crystal. _Focus, focus, focus._

“—Sleigh Beggy's are—“

 _Don't call me that_.

“—he's not just a Sleigh Beggy! He's a—“

_Don't **call** me **that**!_

“—can't stop him from being one just—”

_Don't. Call. Me._

“—of course I know that, but—”

_Don't Call Me—_

 

— _seven-fingered hands, black with rot, reaching for him, a death-rattle hiss, calling him that title—_

 

“—Sleigh Beggy—”

“Don't call me that!” Harry shouted, eyes clenched tight and a snarl twisting his lips, muscles tense and taught and hands squeezing the crystal so hard they went numb. Sudden, bright light flared from beyond his eyelids, but he didn't care, couldn't see past the fury and fear and—

 

— _smell of rotting things and mold and bloody red eyes gleaming out of a mask of a smiling man, serpentine body crack as centipede arms with seven-fingered hands reached for him—_

 

—how he _hated_ that title so much and—

 

— _his Daddy's on the ground, his insides on the outside—_

— _Uncle Padfoot's eyes are as Grim as his form as he lunges at the Monster with Daddy's dying Magic and his own blue-white flames coiling around them, sacrificing himself to keep the Monster from where Harry is hiding behind the chair—_

—“ _I'm so sorry, Cub,” Uncle Remus all but sobs before he's called into the fog to vanish from sight forever—_

— _Mummy looks like she's sleeping but she's_ **not** —

 

There was a sudden, snapping sound, directly next to Harry's ear, and it broke him from his memories and directly into the present, a sharp gasp escaping him as he instinctively cringed away, eyes shooting open to lock onto pale yellow, snake-like eyes barely a few inches from his face. The man in front of him was as pale and ethereally beautiful as the Queene, with a thick green mane of hair that vaguely made Harry think of moss and lichen and...

And...

Antlers?

“There you are, kitten,” the man cooed, grinning brightly at him, before reaching pale, smooth, graceful hands up to cup Harry's face, making the boy aware of the tears wetting his cheeks and how _cold_ he suddenly is. “Easy, easy, kitten,” the man cooed sweetly, smiling. “A bit too much Magic for the first try, don't you think?” He teased, turning Harry's head to the side and—

The kitchen was coated with a thick layer of sharp pink crystals, from floor to halfway up the cabinets, sharp clusters that looked like _those_ _hands_ and—

Curling around his stool and the man—Fae?—was a perfect, life-sized re-creation of the Monster.

Numbly, Harry felt his hands go limp, vaguely aware of the crystal still in his hand (cracked and sharp and shaped like a set of bared fangs) falling to the floor with a _chink_. The Fae made Harry turn his head back so that he was left staring blankly at the man, who was smiling sweetly, much like the Queene had.

“Maa, so much power in you already, little cat!” He chirped happily, smile turning wide and bright. “I can't wait to see you grow into the lion you've got in your heart! Ooh, I'm so excited!” The man squealed, beaming, and Harry could only blink slowly, feeling slightly light-headed and nauseous. “Although, I wonder how a sweet kit like you would know what one of the Wilde Hunt's Slaugh looked like,” he mused, suddenly curling one of his hands under his chin to stare at the Monster consideringly. “Really, nasty Creatures, the Slaugh, you know,” he told Harry cheerfully. “All about blood and Power and trying to become mortal again so they can escape their Hunt, but, well, Humans who seek Immortality through Black Paths shall drown in their corruption and all that,” the man mused, before smiling at Harry. “I haven't introduced myself, poor sweet kitten!” He chirped, leaping to his, to his hooves?” Harry blinked, swaying a little before those graceful hands landed on his shoulders and steadied him even as the man leaned back into his face with a wild grin.

“I am King Oberon! Husband of the beautiful Titania, King of the Faeries, and most handsome of all the—!” Abruptly, his loud introduction was cut abruptly off as a fist smashed into his head, making Harry flinch as the Fae— _King_? Really?—hit the crystal layer on the ground and _broke through it_ to face-plant into the hardwood floor beneath it. The fist responsible was the Queene's, an expression of mild irritation on her face.

“Oberon, Dear, stop overwhelming the babe,” she told him sternly; Oberon sighed mournfully from his prone position, rolling over to fold his hands behind his head and pout up at Harry and his wife.

“So sweet on the little ones, Wife,” he complained mildly, before hopping up onto his hooves without any visible strain at all. “But alright,” he sighed, making his expression as outrageously over-dramatic as possible. “You're no _fun_!” He whined; the Queene crossed her arms over her chest and pinched the bridge of her nose gently. In a blink, the playfully mischievous expression vanished and the King straightened, eyes serious as he stepped forward and crouched next to Harry, making the dazed boy once more hold his serpentine gaze.

“I would still like to know, Kitten,” he started calmly, eyes starting to glitter and glow with inhuman light. “How do you know this Slaugh?” Harry stared silently for a moment, hands absently reaching into his pocket for his Raven.

“It... It killed my family,” he managed to whisper, mouth feeling numb and head strangely... Floaty, as if he was half asleep. “It came with the fog... and slaughtered them, when it, it was trying to get me.” Instantly, Oberon's inhuman, gleaming gaze softened, mouth pursing.

“...The only way for a Slaugh to be killed is if another takes their place in the Wilde Hunt,” he stated; Harry nodded, jerkily.

“My, my Uncle Remus,” he managed. “He was, was a Werewolf.”

The Fae nodded thoughtfully.

“Aye, that would do it,” he agreed. “The Hunt always preferred Canines...”

“Oh sweet one,” the Queene crooned, kneeling beside him as well, making Harry flinch. “Your parents were Mages, correct?” She asked gently, reaching out to stroke his hair tenderly; Harry nodded. “There names? Familars?” She asked; Harry swallowed, blinking as the world grew a little more fuzzy, almost like when he was staring at Magnus that first day, in the car.

“L-Lily Evans an' James Potter,” he slurred out, swaying in the Queene's hold, Oberon poking him sharply in the side when he leaned too far in one direction or the other. “Daddy had a Grimm, Uncle Padfoot, an', an' Mummy had an Ariel, Severus,” he managed; the Queene's face softened sadly.

“Tempest and Stag,” she murmured, sadly. “I was not aware that they had passed...” Oberon's face was serious, somber. “And what of the Ariel?” She asked; Harry blinked as she stroked his head. “Ariel's are Fae, Kitten,” she told him gently. “Even Familiars can survive their Mage's deaths, greatly wounded, but alive. Severus would have returned to Us, to the Underhill. What happened to him?” Harry stared at her, rolling the Raven in his hold, and the Royals blinked, both of their eyes dropping to his figurine. Instantly, both of them stilled, inhumanely so, breath catching.

“Oh, little one,” the Queene breathed, pink eyes distressed as Oberon's mouth twisted into a grim frown. Gently, the King pulled the raven from his hands, cradling it gently, and Harry felt his eyes ache and his cheeks grow colder as he stared at the Raven.

“...He left too,” Harry whispered, staring at the Raven.

 

**~~0~~0~~0~~0~~0~~**

 

— _Severus fell at Lily's side, always by her side, and the grief on his face was the sort that **consumed** , his black feathers limp and almost greasy-looking with the abrupt breaking of the Bond. Harry was froze, too shocked to scared, too **pathetic** to do more than stare blankly, as_ _the Storm Ariel began to slump, body curling up and Magic drifting through the air, shifting his flesh and being until he lay beside his Partner, his Mistress, his dearest, dearest Friend, in the mortal form of the raven, and breathed his last, Fading rather than live without her._

_Harry didn't remember moving, didn't remember crawling across the floor to lift his still, still form into his lap, staring at his mother blankly. He could, vaguely, remember desperately, **desperately** wishing that he could just hold on to one thing, **just ONE thing** , that wouldn't be taken, wouldn't go away and never come back. And then, then he found a wooden raven sitting in his lap, intricately carved, looking almost **alive** , and had yet to put it down, unable to **breathe right** without it. Just this one thing, just this one, **please don't take him, too! Please, please, please, PLEASE, PLE—!**_

_His Mother is lying on the floor and he doesn't know what's going on anymore. She looks almost like she's sleeping, but she's not, and Harry weeps and cradles the figurine close to his chest._

_He has nothing and no one else, anymore.—_

 

 

 


End file.
